


call it what you want

by millsx



Category: One Direction, Taylor Swift - Fandom
Genre: Coming Out, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of Anxiety, Song: Call It What You Want (Taylor Swift), Songfic, larry stylinson - Freeform, post one direction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:22:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25952866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millsx/pseuds/millsx
Summary: Harry almost feels out of breath by the time he finishes his sentence. Nothing he said can be held against him, but it’s still obvious enough that people are going to notice, he knows that.The fans try to find Louis in every word he says, and he just put out a whole meal for themOr the one where Harry and Louis are a little bit too careless about who finds out that they’re together.
Relationships: Louis Tomlinson/Harry Styles
Comments: 6
Kudos: 182
Collections: TheOriginalShip





	call it what you want

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys!  
> i wrote this in a matter of two days after i listened to ‘call it what you want’ by taylor swift one too many times, and then my imagination just went wild.  
> this is a songfic, and i included the lyrics, so it would definitely make sense to give the song a listen while reading!  
> as always, reviews and criticism is appreciated.  
> mills x

_ My castle crumbled overnight _

_ I brought a knife to a gunfight _

_ They took the crown, but it's alright _

Going solo is the most terrifying thing Harry has ever had to do. He remembers performing ‘Sign Of the Times’ live for the first time. Standing on a stage alone for the first time since he was sixteen with no one to hold on to apart from his mic stand. 

Performing without his favorite four idiots took a long time to get used to. He’d always been so settled around them, he almost forgot what nerves felt like. How gut wrenching it is to wait for the lights go on, or the moment right before you have to hit that high note with the whole world watching you. 

Mitch and the rest of his band were there for him, sure, but it still took a lot of time for Harry to get used to the shift in energy performing with them brought, and it took time to feel comfortable and confident on stage again. 

The one thing that made every single second worth it was coming home to Louis, whose wide grin was taking over his entire face, telling him just how proud he was. 

Tonight is one of those nights. 

Harry is sweaty, his shirt stuck to his back and his hair falling into his face in a mess of curls and hair product and sweat. When he takes his ear piece out to hear the crowd one last time as he walks off stage, the noise makes his ears ring. 

He thinks Mitch might be saying something, but Harry is too light headed from the adrenaline to actually understand a word, so he just nods and grins. 

_ This is insane. This is absolutely batshit crazy,  _ Harry thinks to himself. He can’t quite believe that this is his life, that all these people out there are just there to see  _ him _ . 

The first half hour after a gig is always like that. Like he’s living on a cloud, his feet miles away from the ground. When it wears off, he feels tired down to his bones and falls asleep on the bus, a blue eyed boy covered in tattoos on his mind. 

The same exact person is now waiting for him at the side exit of the stage, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet when Harry spots him. 

He’s wearing a black hoodie, and his hands are stuffed into the front pocket. He looks tired, Harry can see that even from his dazed state of mind. 

He ditches Mitch, who’s apparently still talking, and crosses over to Louis with two long strides. 

“Hi,” he exhales as he crushes into him, pressing him so close to his chest that not a single molecule of air could fit in between them. 

Louis hugs him back just as hard, nose nuzzling into the crook of Harry’s neck. 

“You did so good,” he says in the same moment Harry mumbles, “I missed you.” 

“Missed you too,” Louis says, then backs away the tiniest bit to look at Harry properly. 

And Louis’ face definitely shows signs of exhaustion. The rings under his eyes. His skin being the tiniest bit too pale for it to be related to the dim lightning. How his cheekbones stand out, more prominent than usually. 

“When did you get here?” Harry asks, softly caressing Louis’ cheeks with the back of his hand. 

“During ‘Just a Little Bit of Your Heart’. I’m sorry I missed the rest,” Louis says. His eyes are scanning Harry’s face restlessly, as if he’s afraid to miss the tiniest movement. 

“No, no, it’s fine. I’m glad you made it at all. Couldn’t be happier,” he mumbles, already getting lost in the deep blue ocean of Louis’ eyes. 

“Harry, we need to get going. Are you guys coming?” His tour manager interrupts them, and the look on his face is so stressed out, Harry doesn’t bother with arguing. 

Instead, he detaches himself from Louis and takes his hand, intertwining their fingers and pulling him with him to the dressing rooms. 

“Hey, Haz,” Louis says when they’re in the back of a car on their way to the hotel. 

Harry finally got out of his suit and is now dressed in sweatpants and a grey jumper that might have belonged to Louis at one point. 

“Yeah?” he mumbles, distracted by the way Louis’ thumb keeps tapping against his cross tattoo. 

“You need to stop serenading me with your stupid love songs from the b-stage.” 

“Or what?” 

“Or people could catch on to us,” Louis says, and Harry’s heart stops for a second. 

“I think they’ve caught on a long time ago.” 

  
  


_ Nobody's heard from me for months _

_ I'm doing better than I ever was, 'cause _

_ My baby's fit like a daydream _

_ Walking with his head down _

_ I'm the one he's walking to _

“I hate you,” Louis grumbles, holding one hand out to shield his eyes from the sun as he blinks at Harry. 

“Stop being such a bore,” Harry complains. 

He’s standing over Louis, who is currently basking in the sun on a sun lounger by the pool. The skin on his shoulders already has a light pink touch, contrasting with the white towel he’s laying on. 

Water is dripping from Harry’s curls onto his torso, and he keeps squirming and kicking his feet in the hope of hitting Harry in the shins. It doesn’t work. 

“I’m not a bore, I’m  _ vacationing _ ,” Louis insists, now throwing his towel at him. 

“You’ve been asleep for the past two hours, you’re  _ boring _ . And you can barely call this a vacation, given the fact that we literally live here,” Harry says, looking around. 

They’ve been holed up in their L.A. home for the past week, not even going out for groceries. The entire world, including his own management, thinks he’s back home in Holmes Chapel, spending time with his family. Which he did – for one night. And then he packed his bags and flew out to Los Angeles, because for once, his and Louis’ time off matched. 

“When did you become such a smartass?” Louis grunts but sits up nonetheless. 

“You love me.” 

“Maybe I do. Only if you don’t throw me into the water again.” 

That was two days ago, and apparently, Louis is still not over it. 

“If you come with me willingly, I won’t have to,” Harry grins, and offers him a hand. 

Louis takes it and lets himself be helped up. He gets on his tiptoes to kiss Harry’s cheek, then jumps into the pool with a loud yelp, water splashing everywhere. 

Harry follows suit, and all the noise of the world is drowned out when he’s completely surrounded by water. The chlorine burns in his eyes when he opens them a little too early, but it’s worth the sight. 

Louis’ head emerging from underwater, him shaking it out, droplets flying around and breaking the sunlight. It’s the most beautiful thing Harry’s ever seen. 

A second later, Louis has wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck, and is biting down on his lower lip, and he looks so relaxed and happy up close, Harry’s heart skips a few beats spontaneously. 

“Thank you,” he says, pulling him closer by his waist, hands flat against his warm skin. The water is pretty cool for a Los Angeles summer, but Louis spent all day and the sun and apparently stored its warmth somewhere inside of him. 

“For what?” He asks quietly, forehead pulled into a frown. 

“I don’t know. For hiding out with me here and for doing all this ridiculous stuff with me. For being my person,” Harry says and swallows. 

He’s known Louis was  _ it  _ for him when he was sixteen and kissed him for the first time in the bunk bed in the X Factor house. 

He’s known it when they moved in together and he’s known it when they got their first matching tattoos and he’s known it when Louis was willing to go through hell and back with him, for him. 

He’s known for years, but sometimes he still gets overwhelmed with how much he loves him. 

“You’re my person, too,” Louis says, leaning in to kiss him. He tastes like chlorine and sunshine and Harry sighs happily into it, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist. 

When they’re so close that there’s no space left, Harry lifts him up and Louis wraps his legs around him. The water splashes a little as Harry has to find his balance again, and they break apart with a giggle. 

“I wish we could do this forever,” Louis sighs, kissing the corner of his mouth, “No work. No tours. No friends. Just you and me.” 

“Let’s just fake our own deaths and not go back to the real world, like, ever,” he agrees, connecting their mouths again. Louis hums in agreement, and then Harry’s mind goes blank. 

That’s the thing about Louis. Harry cannot concentrate on a single thing with him around, he’s so distracting. 

Later that night, when the entire house is dark an Harry can hear the shower running in the bathroom, he keeps thinking about how this is all he’s ever known. 

It’s weird. Because Harry can‘t picture what his life would be without him. He’s been there every step of the way, every single second, even when they were going through rough patches. And to think that half of the world, at least the part that cares, doesn’t know is – unsettling. 

He can’t describe it any other way. 

Louis is his and his only, and as good as it sometimes feels to know that this is just theirs and no one else’s, he also wants to show him off, he wants to hold his hand in public and say ‘Hey, look, we made it.’

One day, he will, he decides in that moment. 

And when Louis climbs into bed with him, hair still damp and smelling like Harry’s after shave, he holds him close and thinks about every little thing he loves about him. 

  
  


_ My baby's fly like a jet stream _

_ High above the whole scene _

_ Loves me like I'm brand new _

“Lou?” 

Harry’s voice is shaky, and he hates himself for it. He should be over this for now. 

“Harry? What’s going on?” Louis sounds like he just woke up and – yeah. Time difference. Fuck, he forgot about that. 

“Shit, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up, I’m sorry. I’ll call you again in a bit, yeah? Sleep well,” he lets the words stumble out of his mouth, fisting at his hair. 

God, he’s a grown man, he should be able to  deal with this on his own. 

“H, baby, stop. It’s okay. I’m already up, what do you need?” Louis says, and Harry can almost picture him back home in their London apartment, bed too big for one person. 

“It’s just – anxiety,” Harry lets out a raggedy breath, and pulls a pillow onto his lap. 

He’s in between two interviews, waiting in a lounge. He told everyone to leave him alone for a bit, thinking it would help him clear his mind, but now it feels like the walls are closing in on him. 

“Okay,” Louis says, and there’s the rustling of sheets in the background, “Tell me about it.” 

“It’s a lot right now, I guess. I miss home, and it feels like my days are going on forever, and then I can’t sleep and my schedule is so full, I can’t even catch my breath, and I–,” Harry pauses. His throat is closing up, and he can feel his eyes burning. 

“I don’t think I can do this,” he whispers. 

“I know it feels like that, baby, I know. How long do you have until your next interview?” 

“Twenty minutes. God, I’m a mess, Lou. I can’t talk to anyone right now, I can’t put a single sentence together,” Harry says, panicking. He gets up, just to pace around the room. 

“We both know you can do this, yeah? Take a deep breath, love. You only need to calm down a little, you’ve done this a thousand times before. You can do it in your sleep,” Louis’ voice is soft and reassuring. 

He starts counting Harry’s breaths with him, and after a minute or two, he starts feeling better. 

“What’s the interview about?” 

“Tour, I guess. And the next album,” Harry replies. 

“They’re already pushing for the next one? Geez, tell your manager to calm down. This is like One Direction all over again,” Louis jokes lightly.

“Do you want me to practice with you?” He adds after a moment of silence. 

“Lou, you really don’t have to. You should be sleeping right now,” Harry waves him off. He already feels bad enough for waking him up in the first place. 

“Whether you believe me or not, I know how these interviews work, so let me help you. Okay, first question: How are you enjoying tour so far?” 

Harry huffs out a breath and it’s  _ almost  _ a fond laugh. Louis Tomlinson manages to do that to you. 

“It’s great. I’ve always loved performing and it’s amazing to see that people actually enjoy the music I make,” Harry says slowly, sorting through the words one by one. His brain is still a bit foggy, but he thinks he might manage to get through the day. 

“Shit, don’t go all professional on me, Styles,” Louis laughs, and adds more softly, in a private tone that’s only reserved for Harry, “See, I told you. You can do this.” 

“Thank you,” Harry swallows hard, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

“Come home soon, yeah?” 

“I promise.” 

The interviewer comes in right when Harry hangs up, and he does his best to seem relaxed and excited to be talking to her. 

It’s a written interview, so he should be fine even if he still looks a little disheveled. No one can over-analyze him if they don’t get any pictures. 

A few minutes into the conversation, she asks the same question Louis asked before, and he has to bite back a smile. Louis really does know a thing or two about interviews. 

He decides to change his answer a little, “I love touring. I think it’s the best part of doing what I do, because you get to actually meet the people that enable you to do all of this amazing stuff. The only thing that I tend to struggle with from time to time is being away from home.” 

The woman, Harry thinks her name might be Sarah, looks up at him in surprise. Most people are already used to his short and vague answers and don’t expect him to get personal in interviews. 

“Has it always been like that for you?” 

“I mean,” Harry pauses. He could just lay it all out right now, and no one would be able to stop him. His heart beats just fast enough to push him over the edge.

Feeling brave, he says, “Kind of. Touring with the boys was always a bit different, because I had the people that mattered most there with me, but I still missed my family.” 

He almost feels out of breath by the time he finishes. Nothing he said can be held against him, but it’s still obvious enough that people are going to notice, he knows that. 

The fans try to find Louis in every word he says, and he just put out a whole meal for them. 

After that, the question fade into exactly what he expected. More about the fans, the next album and if he gets to pick the cities for his tours. 

It’s nothing out of the ordinary, and in between questions he thinks about Louis. Louis, who picked up his call in the middle of the night. Louis, who works just as hard as he does and never complains. Louis, who steals his clothes and sends him goodnight and good morning texts and somehow orders him stuff and gets it delivered to the different venues and still acts like Harry is the sappy one out of the two of them. 

Louis, who’s everything Harry has ever wanted. 

  
  


_ All my flowers grew back as thorns _

_ Windows boarded up after the storm _

_ He built a fire just to keep me warm _

_ All the drama queens taking swings _

_ All the jokers dressin' up as kings _

_ They fade to nothing when I look at him _

With a loud thud, Harry lets his bag fall to the floor. His legs and arms are sore and his back hurts from a long day of sitting at a table, meeting after meeting. 

To be honest, it’s not been a great day for Harry. And his team. There were more no’s than yes’ in answer to his ideas and suggestions, and he’s been “a pain in the ass” (as his agent put it) with rejecting requests for commercials. 

On days like this, he’s close to regretting every decision he ever made and wishes it’d still be the five of them, then he wouldn’t have to be annoyed on his own. 

Right now, Louis isn’t even home, so he can’t really complain to him either. They talked on the phone yesterday, and Louis sounded so happy with how his writing sessions were going, Harry really doesn’t want to put a damper on it with his bad mood. 

Harry startles when he hears a noise coming from the kitchen. 

What the fuck. 

Louis is in Los Angeles, and the only other person that has a key to their apartment is Gemma, who would never show up without letting him know first. 

“Hello?” He calls into the hallway leading to the living area. 

They’ve had a lucky streak so far with this apartment. No break ins, no fans in front of the building, no reports of stalkers in the lobby. 

But – well. Most things come to an end. It’d be a pity though, Harry really likes the high ceilings and the large balcony. Even though Louis only uses it to smoke and that’s not really something Harry supports. 

He already has the number of the head of his security team dialed and is ready to hit ‘call’ when he hears an all too familiar voice. 

“Shit, fuck. You’re home early.” 

Louis comes into the hallway, a wooden spoon in his hand. He is wearing an apron – an  _ apron _ – and has red sauce smeared across his forehead. 

“ _ I’m  _ home early? You weren’t supposed to get here until Friday! I almost called the police on you, for fuck’s sake,” Harry grunts. 

“Surprise?” Louis asks, a sheepish grin on his face. “Wait, no, don’t hug me. I’m a mess, you’ll ruin your shirt.” 

“I don’t care. I can buy a new one,” Harry mumbles, face already buried in Louis’ hair. He definitely just got here, he still smells like airplane and Los Angeles. 

“What are you even doing here?” He asks before pressing a kiss on the skin of Louis’ forehead. The tip of his nose afterwards, then both of his cheeks, his temple, the corners of his mouth. 

“Making you dinner. I missed you,” Louis says, as if it’s as simple as that. 

As if he didn’t just fly 5000 miles just to see him and make him dinner. 

“How do I even deserve you?” Harry sighs and follows him into the kitchen, one hand in the back pocket of Louis’ jeans. 

His smile drops from his face when he sees his kitchen. 

His poor, poor kitchen. The heart of this very apartment. 

It was clean when Harry left for work this morning, but now there are dirty dishes and open cans of peeled tomatoes spread around every surface, and somehow there are spaghetti on the floor. 

“Cooking is going great, I see,” he grins, deciding not to be mad about it. He’d be a brat to complain about the mess when Louis is doing all of this for him. 

“Shut up,” Louis laughs, bumping his shoulder into Harry’s arm. 

And with that, all the tension of the day just falls off of him. Albums and aesthetics and commercials and artistic leads don’t matter anymore, because Louis is there. Right here next to Harry, bullshitting about the right way to cut basil with that mischievous glint in his eyes that Harry loves so much. 

Dinner turns out to be just fine, with Harry helping cleaning up the mess that his kitchen was. Thank god they have a dishwasher. 

He almost falls asleep on the sofa a few hours later, with Louis in his arms, loudly complaining about the soundtrack of a movie playing on the TV. Harry doesn’t even know which one it is. 

“Lou?” 

“Hm?” Louis replies without as much as turning his head away from the telly. 

Harry hooks his foot around Louis’ leg so that they’re facing each other. 

“I love you.” 

“And I,” Louis kisses the tip of Harry’s nose and pokes the dimple on his cheek, “love you.” 

  
  
  


_ And I know I make the same mistakes every time _

_ Bridges burn, I never learn, at least I did one thing right _

_ I did one thing right _

“I don’t know,” Louis sighs, “I don’t like any of them.” 

“That’s because you’ve been staring at them for two days,” Gemma comments, handing him a cup of tea. 

Harry and Louis both have a few days off, and Gemma decided now would be a great moment to torment her little brother. 

She and her boyfriend are renovating their stairwell and have now moved into Louis’ and Harry’s guest room for the time being. 

“I still like that one best,” Harry says, resting his chin on Louis’ shoulder as he points at one of the pictures. 

They’re all hovering over Louis’ laptop in the living room. He claimed defeat over picking a cover for his next single two hours ago, and then Gemma and Harry decided to help out. 

“Ugh no, my face looks all weird,” Louis shakes his head. 

“Right, you’re proper ugly,” Gemma scoffs as Harry says, “It does  _ not _ .” 

Louis tips his head to the side in a tiny motion, letting his temple rest against Harry’s. 

“Remember when every decision was made  _ for _ us? I miss those times,” Louis jokes.

“Because that was so great,” Harry mumbles, clicking at the next picture. 

“I’m kidding, babe. Wait, go back. Yes that one. What do you think?” 

“That’s a good one,” Gemma agrees. 

Harry hums in agreement as well, but his brain is still stuck on the thing Louis said. 

During One Direction, they had very little input on what they wanted to do, and he only really realized that after, when he was working on his first album and suddenly every single door was wide open for him. 

Well, almost every door. 

“Hey, H. I was just taking the piss, you know that, right?” Louis asks quietly when Gemma leaves the room. 

“I know. It’s just hard to think about that sometimes,” he sighs, “I forget that we were all basically still children.” 

“Yeah, it’s weird to think about that,” Louis says, exhaling, “but I’d do it all again.” 

“Me too,” he nods. 

“I’d do it all again, and if it was just for you, H. I’ve fucked up so many times in my life, and I’ve fucked up  _ royally _ when it comes to us, too. But – You’re the one thing in my life that I wouldn’t change. I got one thing right, and that was you.” 

“Shit, Lou. You can’t just go around and  _ say  _ stuff like that,” Harry coughs, cheeks flushing red. 

They’ve been together for years, and he knows Louis like no one else, but on days like this one, it’s like he’s sixteen again. Completely gone for the boy with blue eyes, falling far too soon and way too hard. 

  
  
  


_ I'm laughing with my lover, making forts under covers _

_ Trust him like a brother, yeah, you know I did one thing right _

Louis’ giggle is to die for. 

When Louis Tomlinson giggles, the entire world lights up. 

He scrunches up his nose when he does it, too, and that habit alone would be enough for Harry to get down on one knee and propose. 

Louis Tomlinson is giggling and scrunching up his nose right now, and Harry’s chest swells with pride because he’s the reason why he’s doing it. 

“You’re insane,” Louis says, still giggling, and rolls over on his side, nose bumping into Harry’s shoulder. 

“You asked and I delivered,” he shrugs, but he can feel the blush on his cheeks. 

A week ago, when Louis had been in Chicago for album related reasons, he’d talked about wanting to go stargazing together, and watch shooting stars. 

October is a pretty unfortunate season for that, especially in London, where it does not stop raining all month, so Harry took it upon himself to get him glow in the dark stickers in the form of planets and stars. 

If he was papped in a toy store in the middle of London buying them, no one needs to know. 

Louis got home this morning, and now they’re in bed, and he just spotted them glued to their bedroom ceiling, shining away. 

“When one more person says I look at you like you hung the stars in the sky, I can just show them this,” Louis grins, pushing himself up on one arm to look at him. 

“And you say  _ my _ jokes are bad?” he snorts, trying not to think about the fact that, apparently, Louis gets told he looks at him that way. 

Harry knows he himself definitely looks at Louis that way, no doubt. Like a lovesick dove, that’s what Gemma said the first time she saw them together. 

“Your bad humor is rubbing off on me,” Louis says defensively. 

“Right. My bad.” 

They stare at each other challengingly for a few moments, until Louis breaks, starting to laugh. 

It’s Harry’s favorite sound. 

  
  


_ Starry eyes sparkin' up my darkest night _

“You’re drunk,” Louis states, but the way he clumsily climbs into Harry’s lap proves that he’s just as tipsy as Harry feels. 

Their friends laugh at something, but it feels like they are miles away. 

“Hi,” Harry whispers, pulling him close by his waist. 

“You gave me too much to drink,” he slurs, jabbing his finger into Harry’s chest. 

“I like when we’re drunk. Makes everything go soft,” he explains, not sure if he’s even making sense by now. 

They’ve had a couple of hard weeks and didn’t even want to hang out with their friends tonight, but Niall bullied them into it, claiming it would take ages until they’d all be in the same city again. 

Both of them knew he was right, so they managed to get their shit together in time. 

“‘m sorry,” Louis mumbles, hands combing through Harry’s hair, “don’t wanna fight anymore.” 

“Me neither. It’s stupid.”

They’re both too lightheaded and dizzy to kiss properly, so they end up with their faces sort of smushed together, but it’s enough to make everything feel like it’s okay again. 

“You two haven’t changed at all, have ya?” Niall sinks down beside them, halfway knocking into Harry. 

“Probably not,” Louis says, and the hint of sadness in his eyes is gone when he turns to face Niall, one arm wrapped around Harry’s back. 

“‘S weird not to have you two around all the time, being disgusting,” he says. 

It took a while for Harry to get used to his brown hair without the usual streaks of blonde, but it suits him. Like this, he looks like an entirely different person, more mature and like someone who has grown into himself. 

Sometimes, in moments like this, Harry’s heart aches with what they left behind when they said goodbye to One Direction. With what they will never get back. 

The band is their childhood, and it was the best thing that’s ever happened to him, but it hurts to think that they won’t ever get it back, that things will never be the same. 

Zayn and Louis still don’t talk. 

Niall and him aren’t as close as they used to be. 

Liam isn’t there anymore to mess with Louis and try to get a rise out of him and the other way around. 

Their lives are better now in many ways, but Harry thinks that it will always sting a little, always have a bittersweet taste to it. 

Louis softly strokes his temple with his thumb, and it slowly brings him back into reality. He notices that they carried on with their conversation, and he doesn’t really feel like being part of it. 

His eyes burn, and there’s a lump in his throat. 

Someone should have warned him that growing up and growing apart sucks. 

“‘You okay?” Louis mumbles, nose resting against the side of Harry’s head, when Niall gets up to get himself something else to drink. 

He shakes his head, “I just miss the old days.” 

“You’re such a grandpa,” he can hear the smile in Louis’ voice, “but me too. It’s insane, innit?” 

Harry turns to look at him, “I was, like, nineteen, and touring stadiums. Madison Square Garden at nineteen, fuck. Do you know how insane that is?” 

“I know,” he lets out a breath and kisses Harry, short and sweet. He even manages to find his mouth this time. “I was there with you.” 

“Huh,” Harry huffs out, “We really were something. Barely in our twenties and on top of the world.” 

Louis snuggles even closer, hands slipping underneath Harry’s sweater. They’re a little cold against his skin, but he doesn’t mind. 

Louis mumbles something, and it takes a second for Harry to understand. 

“Cigarette in my left hand, whole world in my right hand.” 

  
  


_ My baby's fit like a daydream _

_ Walking with his head down _

_ I'm the one he's walking to _

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Harry doesn’t even know he’s doing it until the driver glances at him through the rear view mirror. 

Blushing, he stops tapping his fingers against the back of his phone and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his pants, staring out of the car window. 

Louis' flight landed a while ago, and because Harry is a Good Boyfriend he’d promised to come and pick him up. Now, he’s stuck in the back of the car, waiting for him to finally emerge from the airport. 

Even if he weren’t looking out of the window, he’d know the second Louis comes out of the door. 

And not because of some telepathic soulmate shit, but because he can hear the yelling of the paps and the shutters of their cameras even inside of the car. 

It takes a few looks until he spots Louis between them. 

He’s in a tracksuit, and a baseball cap is hiding most of his face as he looks at the ground, pushing through the crowd, but he’s still so familiar, it tugs in Harry’s chest. 

He scoots over to the other seat, making space for Louis, and the driver gets out to open the door for him. 

“Hi,” Louis lets out a breath as the door is shut behind him, and sinks into the backseat, eyes closed. 

“Hi baby,” Harry says as the car backs out of the parking spot, taking Louis’ hand in his. “How was your flight?” 

“‘Couldn’t sleep. I think I’ve been up for thirty-six hours now,” he says, and it shows on his face. “Fuck, I hate pap walks. I’ll never get used to it,” he groans in an afterthought. 

“I’ll make you dinner and then we can go to bed and sleep, yeah?” 

“Haz,” Louis huffs out a laugh, “It’s three in the afternoon.” 

“I don’t care. You’re exhausted, don’t even try to deny it. We’ll eat something and then we go sleepy-sleep,” he insists, squeezing Louis’ hand. 

“Sleep sounds good,” he hums, eyes falling shut already. 

Los Angeles traffic is horrible at all times, and so it takes forever to get to their house from the airport. 

Louis sort of sleeps for the most time, legs up in Harry’s lap, who’s resting his hands on them as he scrolls through twitter. 

“Unbelievable,” he mumbles, zooming in on a picture.  It’s from maybe 45 minutes ago, of Louis getting into the car. It’s grainy, but, apparently, one can see a hand and a leg in the back. 

It’s not obvious that it’s Harry, but if you can put two and two together…

And their fans definitely can. 

_ All I’m saying is that Harry is in L.A. and that there is someone in the back of the car Louis is getting into,  _ a tweet reads, and Harry isn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry. 

They didn’t even make it an hour before people knew that they were here together. 

He looks over to where Louis is asleep, head lolled back against the window, mouth hanging slightly open. 

Like this, he’s even softer than usual, innocent and relaxed, not a worry on his face. 

It’s hard to believe that they really are doing this, jetting around the world just to find time to spend time together in between working on  _ albums.  _ Like, their own albums. That are doing well. 

They haven’t been in the place they started out in a long time, but somehow, they keep coming back to each other. No matter how far they have to go. 

  
  


_ So call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to _

“And then I’ll be in Italy for two weeks, but we could, like, maybe meet in the middle or something? For the weekend? I don’t know if that would actually work, because I know you’re drowning in work, but maybe it’d be worth a try. We wouldn’t see each other for a month if not. I don’t want that,” Harry explains without looking up from his calendar. 

His events are marked with green highlighter, Louis’ with blue, because, yes, they are  _ that  _ disgusting. 

“Louis?” He asks when he doesn’t get an answer and looks up. Louis’ leaning against the kitchen counter while he himself is sitting at the table, trying to figure out how to sync their schedules. 

“Let’s do it,” Louis says, surprisingly determined. 

“The thing with the weekend? Are you sure? You’ll be knee deep in promo by then,” Harry argues confusedly. He sort of expected a little more resistance. 

“No, you dummy. Let’s come out,” Louis repeats, eyes resting on Harry’s face. He looks calm and collected, but Harry still feels ran over by his words. 

“You– What?” Harry splutters. 

Louis walks over to the kitchen table and pushes the calendar aside and sits down next to him, “I’m serious. Look how messed up our schedules are, it would make things so much easier.” 

“But– Hold on,” Harry pushes his hair out of his face, trying to form a clear thought, “You want to do this because we’re too busy to see each other?” 

He gets an eye roll for that. 

“Haz, think about it. I don’t even know why we’re discussing this. It’s always been a matter of  _ when  _ and not  _ if.  _ If you’re ready to do this, I am too.” 

“I’m–“ He falters. He can almost see it in front of him, not having to sneak around anymore, getting to say and do whatever he wants and whenever he wants. 

He could go to the store and buy Louis’ favorite kind of chocolate milk without having to think twice about it. 

He could publish songs and everyone would know it’s about them, it wouldn’t be just a rumor, a theory, anymore. 

He could go to the next red carpet holding Louis’ hand, and everyone could get a kind ‘fuck you’ if they said something against it. 

“Fuck, yes, let’s do it. I don’t even care,” he lets out a breath and looks up at Louis. 

His eyes are bright, and his smile even more so. It’s fucking blinding, that’s what it is. 

“They can say what they want, I don’t care,” he’s shaking his head, still looking at Louis, “As long as I have you, I don’t even care.” 

“You will  _ always  _ have me,” he hums, and then he’s crashing into Harry, almost toppling them over. 

Their teeth knock together, and it’s sloppy with too much tongue and too little rhythm, but they’re both buzzing and it’s a new sort of high for Harry. 

Ever since he was sixteen, he’s been high on Louis, some days more, some times less, and right now, the scale is going though the fucking roof. 

They don’t decide on how or when they’ll do it for a while and don’t even tell anyone until they’ve cleared it with their teams, but knowing is enough. After years and years, they won’t have to hide anymore. 

  
  


_ I want to wear his initial _

_ On a chain round my neck, chain round my neck _

_ Not because he owns me _

_ But 'cause he really knows me _

_ Which is more than they can say _

“And you’re sure you want to do this?” 

Harry does his best not to roll his eyes. The tattoo artist looks at him with the slightest frown. 

“I’ve done this before,” he says, and knows that that’s not what he is referring to. 

Louis is sitting on a chair next to him, squeezes his shoulder and gives him a look that says ‘Fuck yeah we have.’

“I’m just saying…” he mumbles, but then starts to work anyway. 

For a guy that had to sign a NDA ten minutes ago, he really does have a lot of opinions on what Harry should get tattooed. 

The second the needles hit his skin, Harry focuses on Louis. His pain tolerance is quite high, and he’s been through this enough times for the pain to feel familiar, but the skin around his finger is more sensitive than other places. 

So he looks at Louis, at his soft hair and pretty smile, watches the way he fiddles with the rings on Harry’s other hand. 

“Show me yours again,” Harry demands, and Louis bites down on his lower lip to hide a fond smile as he holds out his left hand to him. 

Someone on Louis’ team recommended that they should get their tattoos in different places, as to not be too obvious, even with their coming out planned, so Louis got his done more than a week ago. 

It’s pretty much healed by now, but it’s in that itchy stage where it’s basically driving Louis insane. 

Harry touches it softly, traces the ups and downs of the line on the underside of his ring finger. 

“So. Are you two married? Y’know, with the heartbeats on the ring finger of the left hand. Where the wedding band usually goes,” the guy starts again. 

Harry has to close his eyes and take a deep breath in order to keep himself from jerking his hand away. That would make a pretty ugly tattoo. 

This guy has some nerve. 

Louis, who is apparently much calmer about this than he is, answers, “Pretty much so, yeah.” 

Harry’s eyes fly open again, and he looks at Louis with a frown. 

“What? It’s not like he could tell anyone anyway,” he shrugs and goes back to playing with Harry’s ring. 

“I guess so,” he mumbles. 

The thing is, they have no definite plans to get married. They aren’t even engaged. Over the years, it’s become an inside joke, a running gag, that Louis would get Harry all these rings from all over the world, promising him they’d get married one day. 

He meant it every single time, but it’s still nothing official. 

Neither of them minds, though. They both are in this forever, they’ve known that for years now, but they also aren’t in a rush. 

When the time comes, they’ll know. 

And then they’ll actually get married, but until then, Harry will always have Louis’ heartbeat tattooed on the underside of his ring finger. And Louis will have his. 

_ I recall late November, holdin' my breath _

_ Slowly I said, "You don't need to save me _

_ But would you run away with me?" _

There’s a text on Harry’s phone from Louis when he gets out of the studio. 

_ Booked you a flight. 5.30am from Heathrow, I’ll see you there.  _

He tries calling Louis after that, but he’s not picking up his phone. He’s currently traveling Europe, promoting his newest single, and Harry has no clue how to reach him.

Other than getting to the airport at arse o’clock in the morning, he supposes. 

But where are they even going? What should he bring? How long are they staying? Does he even  _ need  _ clothes? Last time they went on vacation together, they barely left their hotel room, and even then they were wearing the resort’s bathrobes. 

It isn’t necessary to mention that Harry does not sleep that night. He half heartedly packs a suitcase, stuffing various shirts and sweaters into it without no real plan behind it, and then tries to find out what flights leave Heathrow tomorrow. 

On one hand, they could be going anywhere from Spain to New Zealand, so it could literally be any single one of the hundreds of flights, and on the other hand, Harry knows his boyfriend like the back of his hands. 

They are traveling together and Louis likes going overboard (see: everything related to this trip), so it might as well be a private plane. 

The next morning, he gets into the car that Louis organized for him, and it does feel kind of weird to leave without knowing where he’s going. 

Well, he does know that he’s going to the airport, but apart from that – not a single clue. 

As it turns out, Louis did get them a private plane, because the driver rolls right on to the airstrip for private flights. Harry has been here so many times, he can’t even count it, but it still feels weird getting out of the car. 

It’s still dark out, and it’s cold, wind whistling from the time he shuts the car door until he’s climbed up the steps of the plane. 

It looks like every other plane he’s been on, with large, cream-colored seats and dim lightning, except for the fact that Louis brought duvets with him. 

“Louis Tomlinson, something is not right in that head of yours,” Harry huffs with a smile on his lips instead of a greeting. 

Louis is already sprawled out on one of the seats, wearing gym shorts (in  _ November _ ) and a hoodie Harry is pretty sure is his. For once, he doesn’t seem tense or stressed, it’s just him. 

That’s when Louis feels the most like boyfriend-Louis to him. Not famous-Louis, not busy-Louis, just him with his stupid fringe and eye-wrinkling smile. 

Except for the fact that they are on a private plane. 

“Wrong. Your line is ‘Hello Louis darling, apple of my eye. How do I deserve this grand gesture of love?’” Louis prompts dramatically. 

“You’re an idiot,” Harry says, but he’s grinning as he takes the seat next to Louis. “Where are we going?” 

It takes exactly two seconds for Louis to crowd in on Harry’s personal space, taking a thick duvet with him and shuffling around until they’re both squeezed into the window seat, legs overlapping and upper bodies pressed close. Harry wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Curaçao. I know nothing about it, but the pictures were pretty,” Louis mumbles, face pressed into the fabric of Harry’s jumper. 

For a second, Harry wants to list all the reasons why this is a bad idea, and why taking a private plane to go on vacation just because you feel like it is unreasonable and childish, but then he stops himself. 

They need this. 

Louis needs this. This is his way of saying ‘Hey, I need a break’ and Harry’s heart twists in his chest. 

So Harry just lets himself relax and when he inhales, he can tell Louis’s been using  _ his  _ aftershave instead of his own, a clear sign that he’s either not feeling well or misses Harry. 

Louis must have smoked before he got here, his clothes still tell on him, but he lets it slide. Everyone has their nasty habits. 

“Love you,” Harry says quietly when they’re miles above the ground, fingers tracing along the lines of the tattoos on Louis’ arm. 

Not to be self-centered, but the one on his ring finger will forever be his favorite. 

“Thank you for going along with this,” Louis responds, voice shy. 

“I’m always up for vacation with you. No, scratch that. I’m always up for spending time with you, literally anything.” 

The first two days, they don’t even leave their room for food, just like Harry predicted. They order room service and watch all the movies they didn’t get around to watch over the year, and try to decide where to spend Christmas. 

Doncaster, Holmes Chapel, London, the possibilities are endless. 

On day three, Harry goes on a walk while Louis is supposed to catch up on work. The VMA nominations were announced yesterday, and Louis was nominated for Video of The Year (which they celebrated with one champagne bottle too much) and now he’s doing radio interviews and whatnot, trying to keep the fact that he’s not doing his promo tour anymore on the down low. 

“Give him a hug from me, yeah? I’m so proud of him,” Harry’s mother says at the other end of the phone. 

He’s almost back at their suite, hoping that Louis is done by now. He really wants to go for a swim in the ocean, but not without him. 

“I will, I promise. It just sucks that he has to work now when he wanted to get away from it all for a few days,” Harry says, sighing. 

“You’re there to make sure he’s doing fine, Harry. You’ll both be okay as long as you’re there for each other,” Anne says as Harry unlocks the door with his key card. 

“Thanks, Mum. I’ll tell him you said hi, yeah? Love you,” Harry says before hanging up and softly shutting the door behind him as to not interrupt Louis. 

Except for the fact that Louis is staring at him wide eyed. 

“You just walked in on a live stream,” he says flatly, not moving at all. 

Harry’s heart drops through his ass right then and there. 

“What.”

Louis is sitting on a couch in the living area, now turned around to face Harry, phone still in his hand. 

“I was doing an insta live to thank the fans, and – You just –,” he stammers. 

“Wait, are you sure?” Harry asks, walking over to Louis to look at the phone, like he could suck the footage right back out of it. 

“Hundred percent. I was talking, and then I saw the door open on the screen and you walking in. And if I saw it, everyone else saw it, too,” Louis says, voice shifting into panic mode. 

Harry would like to be more helpful now, but he can’t grasp a single thought. His mind is spinning and spinning and spinning. 

“Fuck, what do we do? Haz, what do we do? I ended the live, but like.  _ Everyone saw _ .” 

“We’ll– We’ll– Hold on, I have an idea. Go live again,” he says, sitting down next to Louis and taking a deep breath. 

He can do this. They can do this. 

“What? Are you insane?” 

“No, Lou, look. This is actually not a bad thing,” his brain is going faster than he can talk, “if we just do this now, no one else can tell us how or when to do it. No damage control, no endless meetings. I’ll just say hi quickly and then leave again, like we planned it.” 

“No one will believe that,” Louis sighs, hand rubbing over his eyes. 

“Doesn’t matter. This is our chance to do it our way.” 

In his back pocket, Harry’s phone starts to ring. He ignores it. 

“Okay, yeah. If that’s what you want,” Louis nods, inching closer to Harry. 

His finger is shaky when he taps at his phone screen, hitting the live button. He throws Harry one last look when they’re already live, and then fixes his fringe in the camera. 

“And I’m back. Sorry for that, I’m not really sure what happened there,” he says, and Harry is left stunned with how natural he sounds, definitely not like he just faced an existential crisis. 

Harry reaches out to adjust Louis’ hand so that he can see himself too, before he tries to figure out what to say. 

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Louis jumps in, “I really did not see that coming. When we saw the nominations, it was kinda a shock, wasn’t it?” 

And God bless Louis William Tomlinson. 

“Not for me,” Harry bites back a smile, “I already had the champagne in the fridge.” 

“Don’t believe a word he’s saying, Harold here didn’t even know they were going to announce the nominations,” Louis snorts. 

“Did you get champagne or didn’t you?” 

“Okay, okay. You were being a very good boyfriend, I admit it,” Louis grins, not even hesitating before calling Harry his boyfriend on his official instagram. It makes his heart swell three sizes. 

“Now get out of my live,  _ some people  _ have to work,” he adds, and Harry rolls his eyes. 

“You heard him. Goodbye everyone,” he waves quickly into the camera and has to stop himself from kissing Louis on the cheek as he gets up. Coming out without actually clearing it with his team is going to get him into enough trouble, he really doesn’t need to strain their nerves any more than that. 

Later, after grueling hours on the phone – that neither he nor Louis took very seriously, what’s done is done – they go into the ocean, sun shining down on them, dipping Louis’ skin in golden light, and Harry feels like he can finally breathe again. For the first time since he was sixteen, he doesn’t feel like he’s being drowned anymore. They are finally free. 

  
  


_ My baby's fit like a daydream _

_ Walking with his head down _

_ I'm the one he's walking to _

“On a scale of one to ten, how close to vomiting are you?” 

Louis snorts at the question, causing himself to almost choke on his toothpaste. 

“I’m serious Lou. I feel sick. Can we cancel?” 

“You’ve done this a bazillion times. More often than I have. What’s going on with you?” He asks around his toothbrush. 

They are standing in front of the bathroom mirror in a hotel room in New York City, getting ready for the day. 

It’s still early, and Louis definitely looks the part – hair tousled, not shaved and sleepy around the eyes – but Harry’s veins are buzzing with nerves, and he feels restless and twitchy. 

When they arrived last night, it was almost midnight, and they entered the hotel through the front door, even though there were still some people in the lobby, and Harry got drunk on the feeling of holding Louis’ hand publicly, for everyone to see. 

That feeling has worn off now, and he can’t even explain why he’s that nervous. It’s Louis who is up for an award, not him, and he’s right, he’s been to so many award shows, there’s no reason as to why he should feel this way. 

But it’s their first official appearance together, and the pressure feels ten times heavier than on other days. 

“This is different,” he finally says, and Louis looks at him in the mirror, facial expressions soft. 

“We waited so long for this, H. You deserve to let yourself enjoy it,” he says, holding his gaze. 

Harry lets out a heavy sigh, “I know. It’s just – scary.”

When you wait your entire life for this one thing to happen, you get used to keeping your expectations low so you don’t have to be disappointed. And when it finally happens, it’s hard to trust it. 

Harry got used to the pretending and the sneaking around and now that he’s able to put it all out there, he feels naked.

“It’s still just you and me, baby,” Louis turns to him and wraps his arms around his waist, “You and me.” 

For a second, Harry allows himself to close his eyes and let the words sink in, lets himself pretend that it’s really just them with no one else there. 

“You and me,” he repeats, leaning into Louis. “That sounds good.” 

Hours later, they’re dressed in expensive suits and smell like hairspray, and Harry gets so distracted by Louis, who’s talking to a journalist a few meters over, that he almost forgets the question he was just asked. 

“Sorry. Can you say that again?” He asks, a sheepish grin on his face. He forces himself to focus on the girl in front of him, maybe in her early twenties. 

“Oh, sure. Who are you most excited to see perform tonight?” She repeats, and tips the microphone in his direction. 

Harry looks at the people behind him, walking the carpet. He doesn’t even know the exact lineup for tonight. 

“Uhm, I don’t really know, to be honest. They are all great musicians, but I think I’d have to say maybe Lizzo. We’re good friends, and she really knows how to get a crowd going,” he says. 

When he glances over to where Louis is, catches him pulling a bored face at him, and he grins back. 

“What I am looking forward to,” he adds, turning back to the interviewer, “Is the VMA winners.” 

She smiles brightly at him, “Right, are you nervous about that? Is Louis nervous?”

“A little, but I’m confident that he’s got it in the bag, honestly.”

A security person ushers him on before he can answer another question, and he bumps into Louis right before the end of the carpet. 

“Let’s do this,” he hums, taking Harry’s hand in his and intertwining their fingers. 

For Harry, the part he was most nervous about was the carpet and the interviews, everything after that is more like a night out with friends to him. 

But with every passing minute, they get closer to Louis’ category, and Louis grows more anxious with every heartbeat. 

“You know, I don’t mind if I don’t win,” he says, but Harry knows it’s a lie. 

“Stop saying that, you’ll win. Your video was amazing, babe, and your fans voted like crazy,” Harry says, squeezing his thigh softly. 

“But what –,” Louis trails off when the host introduces the category. 

An actress comes out, holding an envelope in one hand and the award in the other hand, and the music fades out. 

“And the award for Video of The Year goes to,” she makes a scene out of opening the envelope, and Harry wants to strangle her. 

All his nerves are back, and Louis is squeezing his hand so tightly, he might break some bones. Harry doesn’t even notice. 

“... Louis Tomlinson for Only The Brave!” 

He won. His boy fucking won. 

Harry thinks they might be playing the song in the background, but he doesn’t pay attention. 

Instead, he jumps up with Louis, embracing him in a crushing hug, and Louis is  _ vibrating  _ with happiness, jumping up and down with him. 

Harry presses a thousand kisses everywhere he can reach, his cheeks, the side of his neck, his shoulder. 

He doesn’t care that there are a million people watching. This is Louis’ moment. 

“ You did it, fuck, Lou, you did it!” 

Louis lets go, absolutely fucking  _ beaming _ , and makes his way to the stage to accept his award. 

Harry watches as he thanks the actress and hugs her, watches as he holds up the award into the air, letting the applause rain in on him. 

“First of all, I’d like to thank every person that worked with me on this one and helped me realize the idea behind this video. A massive thank you also goes out to all of my fans, thank you so much for voting and streaming and supporting me from day one, I don’t know where I’d be without you. You guys are insane, I love you. 

“I owe a last thank you to a special someone for talking me into making Only The Brave a single, because without him, this video would’ve never been created. Good night NYC, and thank you from the bottom of my heart!” 

With that, Louis waves at the crowd and leaves the stage. 

When he comes back to Harry, he’s got his award clutched tight in his hands, and he looks like the actual sun. 

Harry could not love him more. 

  
  


_ So call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to _

_ Call it what you want, yeah _

_ Call it what you want _

_ To _

The articles about Harry and Louis don’t stop. 

Every single time they go out together, there’s a new piece about them. 

It’s annoying and slowly pissing Harry off and the best thing that could have happened after coming out. 

According to his manager, they have claimed their place as the industry’s hottest power couple. 

Rightfully so. 

They attend parties together and board the same flights and Harry gets to watch the shoot of Louis’ next music video and they fly out to New York again to watch Liam perform at the iHeart Radio ball. 

But they’re also still them. 

Louis still wears Harry’s perfume on bad days and curls up under the covers with him, warming his cold feet on Harry’s legs. Harry calls him a thousand times a day just because he wants to, and they hang out with Gemma and visit Louis’ family in Doncaster and try to avoid paps at all costs every day. 

They’re still them but at least they don’t have to hide anymore. 

And if that means Harry has to read dumb articles about their relationship every other day, he’ll gladly take it. 

**Author's Note:**

> if you enjoyed this, please leave kudos and a comment :)


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